Background Probability

The Agnostic Popular Front has moved to its new home at Skeptic Ink, and will henceforth be known as Background Probability. Despite the relocation and rebranding, we will continue to spew the same low-fidelity high-quality bullshit that you've come to expect.

Wednesday, August 11, 2004

Spent an evening with my buddy, my kids, my father-in-law and the OKC Redhawks last night (they may be minor league but at least they’re triple-A). Naturally, I had a dog with mustard and relish, though I would have preferred a major league ballpark frank with all the toppings, as one might expect at a Cubs game. Cael ate leftover Dippin’ Dots™, which I suspect will not turn out to be the “ice cream of the future” after all.

Left after the 10th inning with the score tied at 1-1. Figured the game was close, so we’d call it a win. Boo & I had to get home to bed down at a decent hour, it being Wednesday and all.

On the drive back, my father-in-law regaled me with stories of how his father would demand that he perform physical labor at all hours of the day regardless of circumstance, even if he had just finished a 12-hour shift. Certainly this puts his relationship with his youngest son in some perspective. I’d bet both of them were relieved to be going off to college, and for roughly the same reasons.

Speaking of my youngest in-law’s impending emancipation, I must wonder whether he is going to make good use of his newfound freedom. My wife tanked her GPA during her freshman year at OU, and her little brother is not quite so studious as she was at his age. I can only hope that he does a better job of prioritizing his studies over his social life, but given the nature of his current relationship, I doubt this is possible.

C.T. was easily my favorite of all my in-laws here in the city, and his effective separation (if not outright estrangement) from our family is one more item on my ever-expanding list of reasons not to bother living here any longer than absolutely necessary. I doubt very much that I'll miss this middle size town in the middle of the middle-west, with no name pitchers and local bands, and mustard and relish and all the rest.